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Throwback Thursday: Fifteen

August 7, 2014

This one’s for all the mamas and papas and sisters and brother and children of The Volcanoes. So much love and light and hope to you- G

Originally published April 15, 2011

If there is one thing I’ve learned from the writing of this blog, it is this: I don’t know anything. That might sound like a distressing discovery, but it’s okay. I think it might be the most important thing to know. It seems to be more than a lot of people know, anyway.

Knowing nothing does become tricky, however, when readers who have mentally ill loved ones ask me about it – about the whys and hows and whens of addiction and other mental conditions. I wish, so badly, that I had answers for you. When I read your messages I can actually feel your pain, and I want to heIp. I want to offer you hope, I want to give you the answers for which you are so desperate.

But the truth is that I don’t even know my own hows and whys and whens, so I can’t know yours.

But I’ve been thinking . . . I do know the who.

I can introduce you to one of the whos of addiction. I can take you into my heart and show you what is there and pray that it might build a bridge between your heart and the heart of the imploding one that you love.

These essays on this topic- I am going to continue to write and write and then publish. It seems important not to revise, not to edit. So here goes.

There are some who can sit through a movie that makes them uncomfortable. And there are some who can’t. Or won’t. Those people actually have to get up and leave the room.

We addicts, we mentally ill are the Leavers.

We just can’t stand the movie that is showing for some reason. And we are unable to fake it or tolerate it. We have to get up and walk out.

We don’t leave to hurt you. We leave because we believe that it is right to leave. And just as you wonder how we could possibly leave, we wonder how on Earth you can stay.

But please don’t blame yourself. Often, we were just watching the movie together. You didn’t make the movie. The movie is the whole world.

All of the comments after Fourteen sung to me like a lullaby. Except for one. One struck such a sour chord that is has been echoing in my mind since I read it. And I think it illustrates the chasm between the addict and the ones that love us. It shows how we misunderstand each other. How we misfire when we talk to each other. So I thought maybe we could unpack it. I would never, ever do this to a reader unless the comment was anonymous. I hope it will not cause the commenter pain. I know, absolutely, that it was meant with good intentions. I want to thank the commenter for it. It has helped me think. Here it is:

*It’s very hard to imagine where, with the idyllic childhood you had, that this emptiness originated. I hope that your relationship with Jesus healed the hole for good.*

When we are labeling other people and their life experiences, we must be very careful with our words. These words – idyllic, emptiness, healed the hole for good – are not careful words. They presume knowledge. And they do not describe me or my life at all. Not at all.

I read this comment to mean: You are, are at least were, empty. And anyone with an idyllic childhood should not be empty. I hope you turned out better in the end.

First, I can’t imagine that there is anyone on Earth who is more pleased with how she turned out than I am.

Second, there is no such thing as an idyllic (picturesque, carefree) childhood. Let us not be silly. I had a good childhood. I was lucky as hell in most ways. I was the center of my parents’ worlds. But people are not mathematical equations. Love + Education does not necessarily = Smooth Sailing.

Third, I do not relate to the word empty. We addicts, we mentally ill…we are a lot of things, but empty is not one of them.

Fourth, Who On Earth is Healed For Good?

Here are some things that we are:

Some of us are born with an otherness that we feel right away . . . awareness of our otherness is often our first memory. We have this feeling that maybe we were dropped off in the wrong place, because nothing seems familiar. The people in this strange and harsh and confusing world require us to play role after exhausting role. We are afraid of things that don’t seem to scare other people. Friendship, love, commitment . . . these things seem so big, so important, so murky and confusing and dangerous…how could we dare enter into them? We decide it would safer not to.

We see that other people seem comfortable taking these risks, but we feel different. We feel more aware, and less capable. We rationalize that maybe others take all of these risks because they don’t foresee the pitfalls that we see. We decide, subconsciously or not, that we are different. And we are so full of this knowledge of our difference that we must find a way to relieve our fullness. We are like volcanoes with no exit for our hot lava.

But we are young, usually, and don’t know much about creative relief strategies. So we create our own little world to hide in. This world is our bulimia or alcoholism or drugging or cutting or whatehaveyou. And this little world is a relief, because it feels safer. We are directing our own personal movie now. We are in control. We are not deficient. We are not empty. We are actually quite perceptive and resourceful and creative. We are just trying to cope. We are like albinos who protect their skin by staying inside.

And the thing is that our strategy works. Our cutting or binging or drugging does relieve the lava pressure, for awhile. It just causes too much collateral damage it make it a sustainable plan, they tell us. At some point they tell us that the lava is actually burning the hell out of us on the outside, and spilling out onto you.

But please don’t call us empty. We’ve never been empty a day in our life. We are full to exploding. But we tried to implode instead of explode…because we are usually very kind. It wasn’t a perfect plan. We’d love to find a different strategy. But now we’re addicted to our original strategy. And it’s really hard to quit. Try quitting sugar and caffeine cold turkey and then multiply that feeling by one million. It’s also really scary and risky to quit, because we don’t have another plan. So we need help. But we need respect, too.

Because here is the thing. We know we chose the wrong way to relieve our pressure. But that lava inside of us, it defines us. We love our lava. We must find a different way to relieve it, yes. We know. But that hot lava, that otherness, that awareness, that sensitivity- we were born with it and we will die with it.

The pressure of the lava is what led me to food and alcohol and semi-madness, yes, but it’s also the same lava that woke me up at 4:30 am this morning to write to you even though I’m sick and exhausted. The lava is what compels me to dig deep into myself and pour myself out here to women all over the world and to actually believe that it will make a difference. The lava inside me is what loves my children and parents and Sister and husband and YOU with a ferocity that borders on animal. My tenderheartedness, my sensitivity, my rebelliousness…my refusal to accept the world as it presents itself to me – my belief that I can change the world…it must be changed! got me in trouble for a while. It almost killed me. But it’s what keeps me ALIVE, too. It’s good now. It’s good now. It’s always been good. I just needed to learn how to use it. It’s like how nuclear energy can be used to destroy or to create. My lava is what I will use to save the world, or at least my little place in it. It’s why I walk through every day with my eyes wide with terror or awe. That lava is my fire. It’s my light. It’s the reason you return to this blog.

It’s my favorite part of myself. It is myself.

We addicts, we mentally-ill, we don’t want to lose our lava. We don’t want to lose ourselves. That’s why we fight you so hard.

I have found better ways to relieve the pressure of my lava. Yes, I have. I burn fewer people. I don’t burn myself as often. But I still feel the pressure, every single day. Thank God.

55 Comments

Thank you so much for this post. I find myself leaving the room while the movie plays. I feel weak for leaving. I should be stronger, I say. How can I be of any use to the world if I can’t even listen to a news story on the radio about child abuse? If I inadvertently see an image of an abused animal on TV and it haunts my dreams and waking hours for days? I constantly thank God that there are people in this world who don’t have to leave the movie, who can stick with it and keep their eyes open and be a witness and be a rescuer. But part of me knows that this tormenting empathy inside me is a good thing. I can walk in another’s shoes, so that they are no longer the other. I do not think in terms of “us” and “them”. It’s just “we” – this whole planet full of people and animals and rocks and trees and spirits. I feel deeply connected to all of it, so I feel the pain of all of it. And so sometimes I need to turn away to preserve myself. I used to numb out with bulimia, compulsive religion, workaholism. But now I’m trying to learn how to breathe in the pain and breathe out healing, for myself and anyone else whose pain I understand. And to teach my two kids, who are like me, the same thing.

Dear Glennon,
Is there an email or some way to send you something I feel on my heart you should read? I just feel I need to share something with you on love in the darkness and was wondering if there’s any way to do that. I would so appreciate any reply. Love your words, your truth, and you.
Thanks so much,
Anna

Glennon – Thank you for what you have shared. I finished reading your book a couple of weeks before my brother died (July 29th). I never really understood what he was going through. He struggled with his addictions for nearly 30 years. He was in and out of jail – mostly petty stuff – he was really his own worst enemy. But because he stole from my parents (more than several times), even invited the dealers in to help themselves when my parents were out (to their TV, their electronics, even their car) – I abandoned him. I thought that because he did it over and over, that he was not remorseful. I think now that I was wrong about that.

After he died (his body was so damaged from years of drug and alcohol abuse – hep-C, diabetes, serious heart condition, and all the meds that go with those – his heart just simply stopped), I was helping my parents clear out his room. He was on welfare, living in a rooming house. I found papers that he was filling out for government assistance – he was truly too sick to work. I also saw papers he was filling out to get help for his mental health issues. He had been doing a lot better of late – he volunteered every week at the local food bank, at several churches (he had become a very devout Catholic) and at a local home for men transitioning out of jail (where he resided a couple of times.) What struck me was that on all of those papers, he had to recount everything that was “wrong” with him.

And while he was desperately trying to get better, he always came back to his room alone to face the lists of things that were wrong with him. He had his faith which filled him. But it just wasn’t enough. He could not get out of the spiral of bad. And then he would turn back to his addictions.

George didn’t officially commit suicide. But sometimes I think he did… it was just long and slow. It took about 29 years.

I will always feel guilty because I wasn’t there for him. I could not separate the person from the addict. I did not see that it was a mental health problem that led him (unwillingly) to be an addict. I see that now. Thank you for helping me see behind the addict with your stories. I can’t do better for my brother, but I hope I can be better with the rest of the world. And I pray that our health care systems do better for the people that need their help – That they help them to see what is right and to cling to that for dear life. Literally.
– Sherry

Glennon, thank you so much…..my daughter is high-sensitive and I don’t know how our relationship would be if I wouldn’t have read about it. She talks about feeling wrong sometimes or different, she needs more breaks and less action than her sister. Otherwise she can throw a tamper trantum like a 3 year old (she is 7) only because she can’t handle it anymore. But on the other hand she is very empathetic and started to pray at an early age for others (without being asked) I hope she learns to embrace the tension and I’m grateful to accompany her on that way.
I hope your Lava never stops…..
Love from Germany, Kathrin

God. I loved this then and I love it now. Amazing. It’s me on the screen, and it’s shocking and scary and thrilling all at the same time to read it. I wonder if you’ve taken the meyers briggs – are you an INFP? Thanks for sharing this. Touched me today as much as it did three years ago. Love.

I’m one of those who has needed help but look like the type who don’t. I didn’t have an idyllic childhood…though others would disagree. I had no reason to have severe ppd…except I did. I’ve had people tell me that God doesn’t want me to be in pain….then they put their hand on me and pay out loud…and tell me when they see me next they expect good things….I had a panic attack the next week before I saw her. She didn’t talk to me much after she discovered I wasn’t healed. God is with me, healthy or not. I believe He does heal, but not all healing is physical.

I know whenever I am feeling the lava bubbling up and I am out of my own methods for dealing with it, I can come here. I actually came here and found a description for how I am feeling, at almost 5 years sober, with an ‘idyllic’ life. Thank you for making me feel like there is more right about me than wrong, because sometimes I forget. Thank you xxx

I am an addict. Have been since 16yrs and fight it daily. I am currently on the edge of a cliff and can rationalize taking pills. people dont understand that this is a daily fight within yourself and if you dont stick up to yourself, FOR YOURSELF, YOU MAY DIE. I am a good person, raised right, with 2 grest kids who are aware of addiction yet I am struggling with an ex whom I lost to addiction. days like today I feel inferior and not pretty and its an easy way out.

Your post scares me so much, because you are describing my son. I have a 13 year old son. He is and always has been very sensitive. He feels and is full of so much more than anyone I know. When I read your story I was struck by how much it reminded me of my son, and it terrified me. How can I possibly keep him safe? Right now he is in my full protection, or so I think. He has dealt with extreme anxiety, depression and psychosis, as a young child. He has seen a psychologist and we have worked on behavior modification. He has been medicated. We just took him off the medicine and I am scared we will go backwards but I hate that he was on medicine.

The worst part of all of this is that there are many times I don’t understand him and I don’t know how to give him anymore or fill him with what he needs. He is a privileged child (idyllic childhood) with parents that care more for him and would do truly anything for him. We go between being super loving and patient to being completely angry and frustrated with him.

His anxiety about small things confuses and frustrates me. I did not have an idyllic childhood, I believe I am a survivor. He doesn’t need to survive, yet I am afraid he is going to drown.

With your hindsight, is there anything that could have given you comfort during your formative years. Is there anything we can do to soothe our son beyond our unconditional love? I fear with independence he will find destructive ways to comfort himself.

Just showing that you are always there for him is the best thing you can do, this article describes me to a T as a teenager, I pushed my mother away as much as I could, but she always stayed and always said she was there for me and she loved me and in the end that is what saved me, saved my life more than once, I couldn’t do that to her. Her love got me through that rough time, until I saw this for what it is, a gift, a gift that most ignore, we feel every aspect, every color in the spectrum of human existence, there is maybe no one MORE human than these people. Just be there for your son and always love him unconditionally. It helps more than people realize, even if we are too stubborn to say thank you, we will one day.

I have had depression and anxiety, at times crushing, in my life. I have been diagnosed as bipolar. I am also alcoholic, surely to manage years of lava before i got the right help. I am doing very well now – I would say currently symptom free – because of medication, exercise, diet, support groups, AA (19 years) and therapy. I work like hell on it and I am well.

I hope you didn’t take him off the medicine just because you don’t like meds. Let’s be clear: NONE of us likes meds. There are 100 meds and it takes years to find the combo that works. There are side effects and stigma. They cost a lot. But for most of us, the medicine is a lifelong requirement to stabilize our brain chemistry and allow us, then, to develop the coping skills to deal with the lava. Since most of us do go backwards when we are taken off medicine – or off any part of our treatment plan – then I am nervous for your son. Please leave this up to a psychotherapist specializing in brain chemistry.

You say the worst part is that you don’t understand him. I’m sorry. I recognize that understanding this is very hard. But when ‘normies’ feel that they need to understand my anxiety and depression, it’s usually because they resist that it’s true and real. (For me this was invalidating, minimizing and impacted trust, especially at a time I just needed to be held up by stronger people. Some people have told me that it’s just in my head’. Ouch…so far from the truth. Regardless of whatever ‘normies’ understand, an anxiety situation makes my brain and body overreact and it’s like a train that cannot stop. I can’t control it. ) Yet, if it’s understood, does that make it better? Does that make it go away? No.

Or maybe an understanding will help disorders be much less terrifying. You understand it; then you can control it. Again, no. I wish beyond anything else that I could snap my fingers and that this disorder/condition/chemical imbalance/illness would go away. But rather I get to learn to manage it, and share my experience with others.

You are there for him and you love him. That’s awesome; he’s lucky for sure. He feels your love. But, you don’t need to understand him or make sense of his anxieties. They don’t make sense…that is the problem. You simply need to accept that, for him, this experience is true and it sucks and it’s painful. But it can be managed.

As the woman before said, ‘love him unconditionally’ and I would add ‘accept him unconditionally’. this means your acceptance of him is not conditional to your understanding.

I have so much more to say. Mostly, I wish for healing and peace and love and for the right path to appear for you and your son.

Thank you so much for taking the time to share your story, it really means so much and it helps! You are so right there is no understanding of it. My husband and I have said over and over that it is undefinable and it doesn’t make sense. We ask why it is harder some days and easier others – what did we do wrong on the bad days and right on the good days? That is always our question and how can we do better? So please know that we are pointing a finger at ourselves. We have succumbed to just taking one day at a time and giving him the love and support he needs as best we know how. We did take him off the meds at the recommendation of our doctor. We know that we can go back if needed. Right now he is doing better – therapy, sports, structure and diet seem to be helping.

I have been there were your son may be and am where you are as a mom. We as parents try to shoulder too much blame-and it provides some comfort because we hope we can find an answer within the blame. But blaming yourself is destructive and causes you to look for answers in the wrong book. Blame isn’t a part of the equation at all. Even if you find things that help make life easier, it is not a solution but more like a lotion that makes things a little smoother.

Learning how to avoid the anger and frustration as so important for you. This is your journey, just like he has his journey. For me, I am working on this aspect as well. For my dd, we try to find ways to open communication that will help. We found a book regarding Superflex and Glassman to help her be more flexible in her thinking and help her find a way to realize when she is reacting more strongly than others. She will always feel things more deeply and it takes her so much longer to process her feelings than others do.

Love yourself during this time, without the blame. And listen as much as you can–as your ds will talk. Don’t try to minimize his feelings or solve the problems, although you can ask him about how he things he should solve them. Perhaps you’ve already read it, but the How to Talk So Kids will Listen book is great, esp here where there is a disconnection (? if that is the right word?).

A final thought is I get the impression that you feel taking one day at a time is a defeat, but to me, this seems like a victory. You get to celebrate a victory every day.

STILL WAITING for your post on Texting/Talking & driving – save a life….or ten x 50! This epidemic is OUT OF CONTROL! Please, Glennon, I’m begging you. I see too many parents/adults texting/talking with CHILDREN in the car!! Yesterday I saw a woman taking her own picture while driving and had a small toddler in the back seat!! WHEN will this madness end???? God help us all.

I agree! It’s like you just spoke my heart….. I’ve been in therapy for so long and I can’t even tell my therapists how I feel… but this is it! By George you got it!! Thank you so much Glennon for your awesomeness…. you are an amazing woman!!!

Dear Glennon, you usually say exactly what I think. But in this case, I don’t have these thoughts; however, I completely relate to them. This post brought me tears because I don’t have the lava. Mine is more like a piece of kindling that suddenly ignites but keeps dying out. But I have family members who do, and I wish that someone would have described the lava to me and them the way you did many years ago. I soooo appreciate your lava. Ilove the direction it flows and how much it covers. Thank you for this post.

As someone who just yesterday was writing a blog post about what it’s like to feel like you want to die because you just feel TOO DAMN MUCH, reading this just spreads a little bit of healing balm on my soul. Being bipolar and trying to explain mental illness to those who just don’t get it is hard. I’m just going to forward them here now….. Thanks G x

Abbie love and hugs sister. I hate that I feel SO much ALL the time. I’m not bipolar, but I have extreme empathic…powers? It’s very rare for me to read something sad and not sob. Ironic that my life’s calling is raising funds for pediatric cancer research for two foundations and helping to end bullying for another.

Thank you Glennon for always writing what perfectly fits the way I feel and can explain what’s going on with me when I don’t even know how to articulate the confusion and lost-ness that I often feel. You inspire me, your blog and book is my bible and I often look to you when I find myself feeling overwhelmed by my ultrasensitivity. You give me hope that all will be okay and my sensitive being can be a blessing. Thank you thank you thank you
Love Genevieve a 17 year old monkee <3

I really liked this piece. I also am an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for 30 years. I also fancy myself a writer. I have tried to write things like this, but they always fail me completely. You hit the nail on the head.
The conventional wisdom among my alcoholic friends is that you really shouldn’t try to explain it to non-alcoholics. In spite of their best intentions and good will, they simply will not get it. I generally agree with that point of view. That’s why I like your piece so much.
Keep up the good work.

Hmmmm… I think it’s always good to attempt to tell our stories. Lots of people are incapable of truly hearing, but there are those who try so hard to truly hear and understand people. How can we be truly known if we don’t try? How can we truly know others if we don’t try or don’t attempt to hear their stories? How can we make the world a more loving place if we don’t? I encourage you to keep telling. Love to you…

Hi, Glennon! First of all, you are awesome and and reading about your journey helps me on mine. I, too, am a recovering bulimic with a bunch of other stuff thrown in just for fun. I read what you said about “otherness” and it brought to mind something a really great therapist I had once told me. She said that I was the kind of person that was never going to feel comfortable here on earth and that I had to learn to live with that uncomfortableness, otherness. You are right, some of us are born like this. And I believe in and love Jesus, too, and she was a Christian counselor. There are some ways to explain it, I’m a highly artistic, creative personality, a performer and artist, extremely sensitive, but I really think it’s just what you and she have said. Some of us are just born that way. Thank you for helping us all try to understand and help each other a little better!

Glennon…you took the words right out of my heart!…So sorry to put this on you but you ARE my AA….you ARE my sponsor.
YOU get me through!
In October 2013 in Philadelphia, you told me it gets easier. It’s still hard but it has gotten easier. And that’s Ok with me.
Thanks for being there! Judie

I am sitting, silently sobbing and nodding as I write this because YES. This is me. This is my heart of hearts and every little bit of my story. I am seven months sober, fourteen months married, and every bit of twenty nine years a woman of excess and I have never been able to articulate myself–fit all of me in–to the words, my best friends, to tell everyone that I was burning alive. (See what I did there?) Because that’s kind of it, isn’t it? We’re burning alive and oh, myLANTA, isn’t it the most amazing and sometimes hazardous way of being? It’s the only way I know, of course, but I’ve never been able to hold the lava and the fire and see it for what it was. I was never able to hold myself still and see–until you. And your words. And your feels. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

Glennon, I don’t read this column very much, but I do occasionally come here when I get notification of something that peaks my interest. I know what you are talking about. Coming from a family that has a lot of mental illness and alcoholism, I know what it is like to feel different and to be unable to express it. I also know what it is like to have that lava built up inside you and not know how to release it.

I came to your blog after you came to my church to speak and I opted not to go. My loss, but am so glad I have incorporated this as a part of my day.
I believe to the depths of my soul – there are broken parts to all of us, and they are different in all of us. The best we can do is fight against the brokeness to grow to whole. And be thankful. Thankful that we’ve got a new day every day to continue on the journey. Thanks for sharing yourself.

G, you are a bridge-builder and we are so lucky to have you as a guide and a sister.

I agree with the previous poster, Melissa…the world does need you. You and all the other sweet, chaotic, caring, burning volcanoes. Your pain is heartbreaking but your potential is so poignantly beautiful.

I have no right to ask you all to find the strength to keep fighting and re-chanelling your lava, but I hope to God that you do. You are gifts and treasures, and you are wanted.

This. 1,000 times this. I wish I could wear this on a shirt and show it to everyone I meet. I would give it as a thank you to those who saw my self-harm and also saw all the love and beautiful “differentness” inside me that I was terrified of – then helped me cultivate and appreciate the latter. And I would show it as an explanation of how I feel to those who don’t understand that my awkwardness is usually just me not knowing what to do with the beauty in other people.
It’s so nice when things like this make me not feel so alone. There are words for my life and it’s a relief to hear them from someone else. Thank you, G.

Dear Glennon –
I have been following Momastery for a couple of months now after being directed here by a friend who recently lost a child to a rare disease. This blog is one of the true highlights of every day for me. I love your words, your caring, your insights – your lava! This entry is especially meaningful. One of my stepsons – “our” youngest child – is an addict. I am so eager to share this post with my husband. We know that we don’t understand at all why he is where he is. We just know that we love him and hope with all of our hearts that he too will find a better way to relieve the pressure of his lava. Thank you for your strength, your humor, for creating a gathering place for those of us who refuse to accept the world as it presents itself to us, for loving all of us out here and for helping us learn that yes, we CAN do hard things.

Glennon, I cannot thank you enough for sharing this today. I am one of those emails, and I know you read what I wrote. This, this is what I want my volcano to hear from me– I love you BECAUSE you are you, because of your lava. I am sorry it hurts you to live in this world, but the problem is the world, NOT YOU. I am crying as I write this, but I would rather cry than give up what you mean to me. p.s. Leave the movie for a while, but try not to leave altogether. The world needs you.

Thankyou Glennon for such a beautiful post and response to someone who obviously wrote from a place of not knowing. Not knowing what it is like to be born with that quadruple dose of sensitivity and “otherness” that I know oh so well. I have never left a comment for a blog before however I felt compelled to stop and acknowledge a sister in the Lord and say well done:) In the Kingdom broken is the new whole;) The words of Jesus are always Truth and Grace, Truth and Grace, Truth and Grace-a perfect marriage of the two- and thankfully His are the only words we need to truly live. Keep on keeping on!

Amazing. You nailed how I have felt my whole entire life. I had a great childhood but I have dealt with food addiction and depression in wretched waves throughout my life. Only the last 3 years have I come to understand – and even love – my lava. I have always felt very lonely thinking no one could possibly understand how this all feels. Thank you for articulating.